Sign in or 
- EasyEdit
- Edit tags
-
(what's this?What are these tools?
People just like you can add or edit the content on this site. If you want to try editing, but aren't ready to add to this site, try our demo area.
Read more about editing pages at Wetpaint Central.
) - Report page
Share this
Ode to Mertz
Ode to Xavier Mertz (1883-1913) Now gather round, children, pay heed to my wertz
As I tell you the story of Xavier Mertz,
The first man to die of Vitamin A,
A week after New Year's (1913); it happened this way: Now Xavier was born in the Swiss town of Basle,
Went to law school, got worn to a frasle,
Decided a trip to the frozen Antarctic
Might do him some good, might be highly catharctic. Signed up to explore with Mawson and Ninnis,
Never quite knowing it might be his finis.
It'll be cold, said Mawson to Mertz,
So pack up your long johns, and a few extra shertz. So off they all went, to the Queen Mary Coast
To make better maps of that foreign outpost.
Says Mawson to Mertz, "You're in charge of the dogs;
They're here to pull sleds; I'm not doin' no jogs." The dogs came from Greenland, the kind used by Amundsen,
Who explored to the north of the bay named for Hudson.
Called Grønlandshunden by the Danes, they're a kind of a Spitz,
Who hunt seals and bears, and chew 'em to bitz. Whilst crossing a glacier named for Lieutenant Ninnis
Ninnis fell into a crevice,
Causing Mertz to wonder who his next-of-kin is.
Also into the abyss went the food and their canvas yurts
Leaving homeless and tentless poor Mawson and Mertz. Three hundred and fifteen miles from camp, quite a pickle,
The chances for both weren't worth a plugged nickel.
They set out for home, though it was quite far,
And on the way dined on sled dog tartare. Spitz liver puppy chow didn't sitz well with Mertz,
Who on the first of the New Year (1913) to Mawson he blurtz,
"I think I don't feel good; my tummy hurtz."
Says Mawson, "Try some breathe mints, like Certs." For six days they rode, the sled going slower
As they ate up their sled team, morale growing lower.
One by one they ate up their dogs, these polar expertz,
'Till one day he died, did Xavier Mertz. Only one hundred miles from camp lay poor Mertz
Whence Mawson pronounced him ashes to ashes, and dirtz to dirtz.
How'd Mawson survive, clinging to life oh so precious?
Eschewing the livers he'd gnawed the paws that refreshes. Curmudgeon, Thursday, February 28, 2008
As I tell you the story of Xavier Mertz,
The first man to die of Vitamin A,
A week after New Year's (1913); it happened this way: Now Xavier was born in the Swiss town of Basle,
Went to law school, got worn to a frasle,
Decided a trip to the frozen Antarctic
Might do him some good, might be highly catharctic. Signed up to explore with Mawson and Ninnis,
Never quite knowing it might be his finis.
It'll be cold, said Mawson to Mertz,
So pack up your long johns, and a few extra shertz. So off they all went, to the Queen Mary Coast
To make better maps of that foreign outpost.
Says Mawson to Mertz, "You're in charge of the dogs;
They're here to pull sleds; I'm not doin' no jogs." The dogs came from Greenland, the kind used by Amundsen,
Who explored to the north of the bay named for Hudson.
Called Grønlandshunden by the Danes, they're a kind of a Spitz,
Who hunt seals and bears, and chew 'em to bitz. Whilst crossing a glacier named for Lieutenant Ninnis
Ninnis fell into a crevice,
Causing Mertz to wonder who his next-of-kin is.
Also into the abyss went the food and their canvas yurts
Leaving homeless and tentless poor Mawson and Mertz. Three hundred and fifteen miles from camp, quite a pickle,
The chances for both weren't worth a plugged nickel.
They set out for home, though it was quite far,
And on the way dined on sled dog tartare. Spitz liver puppy chow didn't sitz well with Mertz,
Who on the first of the New Year (1913) to Mawson he blurtz,
"I think I don't feel good; my tummy hurtz."
Says Mawson, "Try some breathe mints, like Certs." For six days they rode, the sled going slower
As they ate up their sled team, morale growing lower.
One by one they ate up their dogs, these polar expertz,
'Till one day he died, did Xavier Mertz. Only one hundred miles from camp lay poor Mertz
Whence Mawson pronounced him ashes to ashes, and dirtz to dirtz.
How'd Mawson survive, clinging to life oh so precious?
Eschewing the livers he'd gnawed the paws that refreshes. Curmudgeon, Thursday, February 28, 2008
|
|
Latest page update: made by
Anonymous
, Sep 7 2008, 11:04 PM EDT
(about this update
About This Update
Edited anonymously
388 words added view changes - complete history) |
|
More Info: links to this page
|
There are no threads for this page.
Be the first to start a new thread.
